14000 MILES 



not miss them very much. We were in Maine; that was 

 enough. The wooded roads were very pretty, too. We 

 would walk up a steep hill, then get in the buggy, write 

 a sentence or two, and out again for a walk down a pitch. 

 In number, steepness and length of hills, Franconia, 

 Crawford and Pinkham Notches do not compare with 

 these drives. The roads being grass-grown for miles 

 indicates that all tourists do not take our route. As we 

 came into Springvale, we saw automobiles for the first 

 time since we left North Conway. 



As we drove on towards the coast, we were delighted 

 to find it would come just right to spend a night at 

 Green-Acre-on-the-Piscataqua, where we found so much 

 of interest to us two years ago, and were greatly disap- 

 pointed when we arrived at the inn, to find there was no 

 possible way of caring for our horse, as the stable near 

 the inn was closed. We did not want to go on to Ports- 

 mouth, and the manager of the inn assured us of good 

 care for ourselves and horse, if we would go back to Mrs. 

 Adlington's cottage, which he pointed out to us on a hill 

 up from the river. Before the evening ended we could 

 have fancied ourselves on the piazzas of the inn, for the 

 subjects that came up and were discussed by summer 

 guests from New York, Philadelphia, Boston and Saco 

 would have furnished a program for the entire season at 

 the Eirenion. We were shown an ideal study in the cot- 

 tage connected, where a book is to be written. Indeed, 

 we seemed to be in an atmosphere of book-making, and 

 again we were questioned until we confessed, and the 

 "representative list" was materially increased. 



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